Tim Miller: It happens every semester

I give my film students their finals, and as they're taking them, I'm sitting at the front of the room with a heavy heart.

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Posted May. 10, 2014 at 12:01 AM

Posted May. 10, 2014 at 12:01 AM

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It happens every semester. I give my film students their finals, and as they're taking them, I'm sitting at the front of the room with a heavy heart.

One by one they drop off their exams as they finish them, and we quietly (so as not to disturb the remaining test-takers) say our goodbyes.

One by one they walk out the door, and I know there's a good chance I'll never see them again. When the last student leaves, it's time for me to pack up and leave. But I usually want to sit, or stand, in the classroom or lecture hall for a bit longer.

The students, I'm pretty sure, are happy the class is over, and they're looking to their future — graduation, or the next semester. I'm already in their rearview mirror, as I should be.

For me, it's a bittersweet experience. I might feel relieved at getting through another semester and having "time off" (as in only one job to worry about), but I also feel a strong sense of loss.

I get to know these college students — some better than others — through class discussions, through casual or not so casual chats before and after class, and, perhaps most of all, through their writing.

I have my students, at Suffolk University and Cape Cod Community College, write critiques on just about every movie we see in class. I emphasize that I don't want formal, generic pieces. Movies are personal, or should be, and I want their writing to reflect this. I want them to bring something of their own to the table. I want to be able to read critiques and, without looking at the name on top, have a good idea who wrote them — through their individual views and concerns, their personalities, their writing voices.

My goal as a teacher (warning: this could sound pretentious) is simple: to raise consciousness. I want to encourage students to be more conscious of how they're experiencing and digesting movies, and, by extension perhaps, to be more conscious about everything in their lives.

When I show an Ingmar Bergman movie (either "Wild Strawberries" or "The Seventh Seal"), for instance, we get into Bergman's in-your-face consideration of death. I used to think I was immortal when I was their age, I tell my students, most of whom are in their late teens or early 20s. But now, I continue, I'm fairly certain everyone in the classroom is going to die eventually. So shouldn't we give death some thought, even if it makes us feel uncomfortable?

Yeah, sometimes I'm just a barrel of laughs.

The students' critiques, and their essay answers on the final, often move me. Last semester, a young woman in one of my Suffolk classes in Boston wrote that "Casablanca" was her favorite film from the course because of its theme of self-sacrifice: It made her want to be a better person.

My heart soared.

Much of the time the students' sincerity is what gets to me. Some write with great compassion and warmth, some with passion and anger. Some are just so down-to-earth and funny, or cheerful and optimistic, in their writing. Even those who take a more intellectual approach often dig deep within themselves and make it personal.

I am so grateful, so honored, that they open themselves up to me this way. It's a risk on their part, on anyone's part, to write or speak from the heart. It leaves you vulnerable. I'm humbled that they would trust me by sharing this part of themselves.

So I sit there after they've all finished their finals and have left the room. I fight the urge to get choked up. And then I force myself to get up and move on.

Tim Miller's reviews can be found at www.capecodonline.com/miller. To follow him on Twitter, go to @TimMillerCritic.